Robin Skone Palmer

Robin Skone Palmer

The SHRIEK!

Saturday evening I was sitting at my computer when I hear the most terrifying shriek! it brought me right out of my chair. It was followed almost immediately by a second, louder shriek. The hair on my arms stood up — a child was obviously in distress. I raced out the front door and had a quick look up and down the street and there — across the street and up a couple of houses — was a jump house that had suddenly materialized.

Jump house — you know — the large inflatable thing that looks like a castle. Kids go inside and jump up and down and bounce all around like on a trampoline, and apparently shriek while they do it. At least this one had a shrieking child inside. I watched for a couple of minutes to make sure that was really what was happening until a little girl, probably about 8 years old, emerged. Her mother, perhaps seeing a neighbor standing on the sidewalk watching, said something to her — I hope about not shrieking.

Now in case you are not familiar with children’s shrieking — and I should actually say girls because I don’t think boys make this particular sound — it is similar to when the tea kettle boils. The difference between the two is that you have put the tea kettle on so except for the instant when it first boils, you are sort of expecting it. When a child shrieks, it’s totally unexpected.

The jump house, of course, was for a party, so I braced for a long, loud night. At least the neighbors have finally realized that they have to squelch the noise by 11. It only took three visits from Las Vegas’ finest for them to learn this. It’s not the party I object to, as I told the dispatcher, but the loud speakers that blast the music all over the neighborhood — and on one occasion, a DJ with a microphone who the later it got, the louder he got. I think the beer had something to do with that.

The good news is that these parties seem to be occurring less and less. Used to be every couple of weeks — not it’s every couple of months. Maybe they got tired of the cops coming by every time.

So now it’s Saturday a week later and the jump house is long gone. There is no more shrieking and the only thing that remains is a recycling bin at the curb filled with aluminum beer cans. All I can say is that thank goodness the kids aren’t drinking the beer — can you imagine how loud the shrieking would be then??